Page 326 of Vicious Saint
He waves me off. “I’ve been around your stepfather long enough to know how sticky things can get in his line of work.”
With an appreciative nod, I step out of the way for Carlo to do his thing, demanding him to keep a smile on his face.
He does so the whole time, which only ends up turning the awkward moment into a creepy one, especially when he gets to patting down Mike’s legs.
Off to a fantastic start, Montgomery.
As a demand to hurry it the fuck up, I offer a subtle kick to Carlo’s ankle, a move that needs no translation because I’ve done it a hundred times.
“All done—finito.” Carlo steps back,still freaking smiling, holding his arm out for me to proceed with entering the building, and Mike does his best not to show his discomfort as he welcomes us inside.
“There’s not much to see here, unfortunately.” Mike apologizes as we make our way through the corridors to his office. “Most of the cool stuff resides in the main campus.”
“I always wanted to see what it looks like inside Turner Hall.”
“I take it you’ve never paid us a visit, then.”
“Pssshhht. I wish.”
Pssshhht? Really Hendrix? Get a damn grip.
“I’d be happy to set up a tour for you when the weather warms up.” He pauses. “That is, if you’re still interested in attending the university after today.”
I blink at him, dumbfounded by the assumption, even if it’s a reasonable one. “It’s been a dream of mine to come here since I was a kid.”
Mike stops in front of the opened door to his office, once again ushering me inside. “Well, then let’s see what we can do to make that dream come true.”
It took a bit of persuasion to keep Carlo’s ass out in the hall, but after agreeing to kiss the damn necklace he gave me, he backed off and settled for manning the door.
By now, Mike and I have been through formal introductions, small talk, even my backstory as he flipped through the pile of my transcripts faxed over from Beaumont’s assistant and previous guidance counselor at Franklin High.
I learned a lot about Mike too. How he also attended BU, got his doctorate in Teaching and Education, even worked here as a professor of Art History for over twenty five years. Something I wasnottold by Vic and has officially made this interview even more intimidating.
Still, I remain composed through the process so far, only needing to pinch myself in the thigh like five times. I have the opened window behind him to thank for not sweating down my forehead.
“Shall we get to your portfolio?” Mike asks with an outstretched hand, which is when I realize I still have it in a death grip.
“Oh, of course.” I chuckle nervously, giving it over and trying to ignore the wet stains on the manilla envelope from my damn fingers.
Mike opens the envelope, remaining quiet, and expressionless as he flips through the pages. Making the window, all of a sudden, do absolutely nothing to stop the sweat beading behind my bangs.
Or allow me to suck in air.
Breathe, Hendrix, there’ll be no university to go to if you’re dead.
“Have you been drawing for a long time?” Mike asks, still busying himself with the pages.
I swallow. “Yeah, uh, since I was a kid.”
“Oh, you’re still a kid,” he jokes, and I hope it’s in reference to my age, not the quality of my drawings.
“Mhm…I guess you’re right.”
“What was your inspiration behind this piece?” He holds up one of my very few landscapes, which also happens to be my favorite.
“The Black Panther.”
He arches a brow.
